Uncommon Vices
by Cora Clavia
Summary: Everyone pretends to be a hooker sometimes.
1. Cherry

I sort of… stole this prompt outright from Carto's suggestions for Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles, both of whom have UNBELIEVABLE multi-chapter stories on the prompt. Go read both of them. They're both called _Vice_.

Set five(ish) years pre-series: Castle's still writing Derrick Storm, Beckett's a hot young Vice cop.

* * *

**Uncommon Vices**

It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.

Abraham Lincoln

Castle half-thinks Patterson wanted to get him mugged. Seriously. "Seedy" would be a compliment for this bar. _Cherry_ is the dirtiest place he's ever been. There are things happening – oh _shit_ there are couples doing things that should definitely get them arrested – but _wow_. Wow. This is unbelievable. If he doesn't get shot, he is _totally_ putting this place in a book.

He's got his drink and he's settled comfortably at a little booth that's the perfect vantage point; he can see the whole place. The details jump out at him, starkly real: the smoky air, the scuffed floor, the deep red curtains blocking the windows. Tables high and narrow enough to reach someone's hand (or...other things) underneath. The half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table with a faint stain of lipstick on the end. Whoever she was, she left before she was finished with it. But it's set down carefully, not tossed, so she must not have had to run. Maybe it wasn't in panic. Maybe someone came over and whispered something in her ear. An invitation. She would have thought about it. Considered. Then shot the mystery man a sultry half-smile as she set down her cigarette and joined him for - a drink? a dance? - and maybe after a few minutes of letting his hands wander, she tugged him close, traced his neck with her tongue as she leaned in and whispered into his ear _Let's go back to your place_ -

He's staring at the cigarette, the mystery woman rapidly materializing in his mind in a cloud of red lipstick and black stilettos and wide dark eyes, when she speaks.

"That's my seat."

He blinks dazedly for a second, looking up, and there she is.

And wow. Just wow.

She's tall, slim, hauntingly gorgeous, with eyes he can't stop staring into. Short, sex-tousled dark hair. Lips as red as sin. Her dress is short and tight and glittering black, low-necked and short-skirted and so utterly indecent it stops him short.

_Wow_.

He's not sure if she's a hooker or not. She's unbelievably hot, and she could definitely be one, especially in those tall, sexy shoes that are just _begging_ to slide over his thighs while he thrusts into her (because who _wouldn't_ pay for it with her?) but there's something else there, something different. She's not jaded. She's not looking at him like she's sizing up his wallet. She's eyeing him with a look he can't quite read: irritation, maybe, but there's definitely a hint of amusement in the quirk of that pouty red mouth. She sets her hands on her hips, and he realizes he should probably say something, not just stare. _Come on, Rick. You've got more game than this._

"Uh. Sorry. I didn't realize." He grins. "You're welcome to join me, though."

"I guess I'll let it go," she murmurs, sliding into the booth beside him, and he thanks everything that these booths are small and cramped because that means she's pressed against him, flush and warm and bare skin and he gets a look down the front of her dress and _shit_ he officially loves this place.

"So. You come here often?" Not his best, but it's something. Even Bond started somewhere.

"Often enough."

"I'm Rick."

Her lips twitch, like there's a joke he's missing, but she just shrugs. "That's nice for you."

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" He really should move, give her some room, but he can't help himself. He's mesmerized, drugged by this bewitching young woman with her smoky eyes, her teasing mouth. He wants to kiss her. He wants to slide his hands up over her thighs, edge under the skirt of this flimsy little black dress and make her gasp. He wants to pull her into his lap and suck on the smooth column of her throat until she squirms against him. He wants to drag her into a closet, shove her up against the wall, and push her skirt up her thighs while she wraps her legs around his waist.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I like you." His fingers trail over her arm, and he watches, fascinated, as she takes in a quick breath.

She flicks a sly glance up at him, and yeah, he's _definitely_ interested, but - he can't place it, but something's off. Something. She _looks_ like a hooker, yeah - well, maybe - but there's something - the way she started when he touched her -

Wait.

Her seat. Her seat -

"So you always sit here, huh?"

"Yeah. Until you decided to steal it."

"Gives you a good view of the room, right?"

She shoots him a startled look, clearly trying to figure out how to respond, but it's too late. His eyes go wide. "Wait. Oh my God. You're a cop. Are you a _cop?_"

"Dammit, shut _up_." She sighs, grits her teeth. He wants to kiss her. "Yes."

A cop – then she's older than she looks. Has to be. Oh, this is perfect. This is amazing. He's at a dangerous club, drinking good liquor, with this wild, feral, sexy young cop pressed up against him. Best night _ever_.

"Can I interview you?" Storm could totally do a stint in Vice. Besides. Rick would have no problem interrogating this hot, hot young thing. In his bedroom. Or in the backseat of a limo. Or -

"What? No." She stares at him like he's an idiot. "What the hell?"

"Come on. I'm a writer. I write crime novels. I would love to - "

"Shut _up_," she hisses. "You need to keep your voice down."

Oh God this smoking cop is _working_ and he cannot _handle_ it and he's torn between needing to ask her a thousand questions about every nuance of her job and needing to rip this dress off of her and worship her body with his mouth.

"Alright. Fine." But if she's working...that makes this all fake, right? So he can...touch her?

Instead of asking permission, he leans in, ghosts his lips over her bare shoulder as he steals one hand over the plane of her stomach. "If you're working, I can help. I can be your cover."

She huffs a short laugh, but it's shaky. He's got her. "Sure you can."

"It's the least I can do for the city I love."

Her fingernails bite sharply into his forearm and he winces, but then she eases up. She bites her lip (shit that is the hottest thing he's ever seen). "Fine. Fine. Just shut _up._"

That's fine with him.

She arranges herself sort of half-on him, draped easily over his chest and _mmm _she's so _warm_ and soft, loose and liquid against his body. He slides his hand over her back, and it's all smooth bare skin, the back of her dress cut so low his fingertips actually brush just a hint of the smooth curve of her -

"Watch it," she whispers, and it's meant to be angry but he's too drugged on the heat of her breath on his neck to be anything more than turned on.

"Do you see your guy?" If she came here, to this spot with its clear view, she's here to see something. Safe bet it's a person, right?

"I think - " She shifts, accidentally slipping her knee between his legs and _shit_ his pants are getting tight. "I - wait - no, no no - "

"What?" he chokes out, blind and unaware and not caring about anything beyond the almost-naked woman grinding against his thigh.

"Shit." She looks around frantically, her dark hair whipping over her cheeks. "Shit, he's coming this way - "

"Yeah, I think he might be curious about why you and I are just sitting here, you know. Not having sex."

"_Damn_ it."

He's about to ask if she's got a plan (and _damn_ this police thing is exciting) when she shoves his back against the wall, _hard_, and as she straddles his lap and rolls her hips against him, her hands sliding under his jacket, he lets out a strangled noise. "What - what - "

"Shut up," she growls into his ear, and his eyes roll back as she leans into him, her soft, tantalizing curves flush against his body, her mouth skirting his jaw. "Just tell me who the bald guy leaves with."

"Why can't you - "

"He's seen me before, would you shut _up - _"

Her teeth sink into his earlobe and his hips jerk up into hers roughly, his hands tightening against her thighs. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the slow wet trail of her tongue over his neck. Shit. Shit, he has to _focus_ or she's going to climb off his lap -

He blinks. Uh. Bald man. Right. Bald man, bald man bald m-

Her hand slides lower and he gasps, clutching at her wrist. "You - you need to not - "

"Just _watch_ him."

Rick grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and fixes his eyes on the bald guy in the tacky suit near the back of the club. Her lips ghost over his throat softly, so teasing, and he screws his eyes shut because he _absolutely_ cannot deal with this.

He focuses on Baldy, who's talking to two other guys, and surrenders himself to this darkly sexy young woman who seems determined to slowly drive him insane.

* * *

The second he chokes out "he left - oh _god_ - left with the tall guy," she leaps off him like she's been burned, and it takes him a second to catch his breath and _shit_ his body is so tight and hot and _wanting_ it's actually physically uncomfortable.

He follows her obediently, staring, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed, as this lithe young sex goddess murmurs something into a radio receiver (where the _hell_ was she hiding that?) before grabbing his arm and pulling him away down the street.

He babbles to keep himself from putting his hands back on her. "What was that? What were you - "

She shoots him a baleful glare, though its effect slightly lessened by the visible flush in her cheeks, the unmistakeable pink spread across her chest. "I can't tell you."

"Come on! Have a heart." He sidles up, steps into her space, lowers his voice suggestively. "If you'd rather discuss it in _private_, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

She shoots him a halfhearted glare, but he sees the quick flicker of heat in her gaze. Oh, yeah. She's into him. "I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."

"That is so _hot_."

She glances back, but the door is shut behind them. "Let it go, okay?"

"Let it go? Are you _kidding?_ Oh my _god_, you - you're a cop, and you can - and holy shit, you have handcuffs, don't you? Please tell me you have handcuffs. And a thigh holster."

The look she gives him is more amused than anything. "It wouldn't even matter if I told you _no_, would it?"

That's basically a yes. Castle's in heaven. Sexy cop. Handcuffs. Some shadowy mystery of a mission. He doesn't know what exactly she was looking for in that club, who the bald man was, and he really genuinely doesn't care because _wow_. Huh. He just got sucked into a Vice sting, didn't he? Maybe Storm could walk into a seedy club, find a nubile young plaything to help him do surveillance and let his hands end up -

The cop is staring at him. He clears his throat. "What – mmph."

Before he can get the question out, she's grabbed him, yanked him to herself, and then _oh God_ this smoking hot Vice cop is kissing him _hard_, her tongue sliding aggressively over his lips as her slim body presses against his and _oh_ that's so _hot_ -

She steps away and it's all he can do not to grab her again. But she just smirks at him, entirely too pleased with herself, and pats his chest.

"That was a thank you."

She moves as if to go, but he catches her wrist, tugging gently. "That's it? Come on. We could go somewhere. Debrief each other."

"Seriously?" She rolls her eyes. "You're going with _debrief_?"

"I'd be _happy_ to let you debrief me."

She bites her lip and grins, but pulls her hand away. "Look. Just stay away from this place tomorrow, okay? Don't come near it."

Does that mean a sting? Holy shit, is Vice doing a bust?

She must see the excitement on his face, because she sets a hand on his shoulder. "I mean it, okay? If it goes south you might get hurt. Please. Stay away."

"Come on. I don't even know your name. How will I find you?"

"You won't." She turns away and he watches dumbly, staring at the smooth lines of her, the teasing shift of her hips, the long, lovely legs, and who _is_ this gorgeous young woman and he just has so many _questions_ -

She pauses and looks back over her shoulder, the city lights playing over her face, lighting up her eyes, dark and sparkling and full of secrets.

"Go home, Mr. Castle."

And then she's gone.

* * *

He goes home, showers quickly to scrub off the smell of sweat and smoke and _her_, and goes straight to his computer. A scene unfurls under his fingers, a dark, smoky bar, shadowy figures, Derrick Storm getting cozy with a sexy young Vice cop in a flimsy black dress who's too green not to shiver every time he touches her, who pushes his hand between her legs and whispers _let's go debrief each other in my car_...

It's three in the morning, and he's been typing feverishly for hours, when he suddenly stops.

(_Go home, Mr. Castle_.)

He never told her his last name.


	2. Scarlet

These two chapters are unconnected, unless you count the fact that they both include someone posing as, well, a strumpet. This one, too, is set five or six years pre-series, with Castle writing Storm. Warnings for strong language.

So here is Uncommon Vices, Vol. II. Because everyone pretends to be a hooker sometimes.

Dedicated to my beloved Cartographical. She is the star in my sky, the the umbrella in my fruity drink, the happy animal face on my leash backpack.

* * *

Richard Castle, debonair, dashing crime novelist, is dressed in his favorite Italian suit, perched at the bar in a club called Scarlet_._

His skin is crawling with excitement. It took him months to get the tip that led him to this place. He's talked to mobsters and cops and private eyes in his writing, and yes that was all cool, but right now he is actually posing as an escort. He is a_ male escort_. Well, pretending to be one, anyway. And not that he's noticing - but there are a few other guys he's pretty sure are real escorts, and not one of them is wearing a suit this nice. Or well-fitted. So there's that.

A friend of a friend of someone who knows someone tipped him off about Scarlet_. A_pparently a lot of the concierges at high-class hotels know this place; they'll discreetly send wealthy female guests to go meet new friends. And then pay their new friends. To get even friendlier.

Rick likes making friends. He likes making hot friends. Not...not that he's actually going to take a client, of course. Getting paid for sex is something he'll leave for the books. He's not going to ask Bob to get him out of the charges if he gets arrested for prostitution. That's just embarrassing. Besides, why drag money into something that's supposed to be fun?

He orders a martini because it's classy and tries to find a posture that says_ I can make your body feel so good_. He's on a stool. It's difficult. He settles for what he thinks might say _I'm moderately sexy, I swear_.

"Well, hello there."

He looks over and has to remind himself not to grimace. The woman, clearly in her sixties, also clearly thinks she's in her thirties. She's orange and leathery and artificially blonde and squeezed into a dress that's much too small and just _ewww_.

But he smiles politely. "Hello."

"Is this seat taken?" she coos, sliding a claw-like hand over his arm. Urgh. No thanks.

"Actually, yes, sorry - my girlfriend's on her way."

She walks away, beelining straight for some other unlucky guy, and Rick sips his drink, crestfallen. He'd figured there'd be cougars, of course. But he was hoping they would all be obscenely hot cougars.

* * *

He relocates to a more comfortable chair a little further away from the bar, giving him both a better view of the club and a less conspicuous position. On the one hand, he doesn't get propositioned by any more women with skin like footballs. On the other hand, he doesn't get propositioned at all.

After half an hour of watching other smooth-talking guys leaving with women, he's decided it's time to cut his losses and go home. It makes sense, though, doesn't it? A woman willing to pay for sex is probably a woman who's not getting any for free.

He's about to stand when suddenly there's a hand on his chest, pressing him back down into his seat. He gets a flash of dazzling dark eyes, and his mouth opens - what the hell -

And then out of nowhere she's on him, this mystery woman, her body pressed up against him, all slim and curved and soft and sinking into his lap. And her mouth, wow, she's ravenous, her tongue sliding between his lips, eager and wet and demanding.

Is this really happening?

As if she senses his hesitation, she pulls her hot mouth away, her breath hot on his skin. He sucks in air. Tries to form words. She's _stunning_. Wide dark eyes, soft wavy dark hair, delicately framed cheekbones. Red, red lips, still flushed from his. And she's eyeing him like she wants to devour him.

Who - what - what the _hell_ -

Her cheek brushes his as she leans into him. Oh _shit_. His throat - and other parts of him - get tight as she whispers into his ear. "Just go with it, okay?"

He chokes out something like _okay_ or _I'll try_ or maybe just _thank you God_ but then her tongue is in his mouth again and he doesn't really want to talk anymore.

This gorgeous mystery woman is impatient, determined, her teeth scraping at his lip before she slides her tongue over the sting. She slides her hands under his jacket, over the muscles in his chest, and finally she slides his tie loose, slipping it out of his collar in a move that sends a deep groan through his chest. She starts unbuttoning his shirt as her tongue traces the edge of his jaw, her fingers nimble and light and teasing and so _hot_ and he runs his hands over her back, hot skin under black lace. She arches into him with a breathy little sigh, and he slides his hands lower, onto the curve of her perfect, perfect ass, taut and smooth under his touch.

It vaguely occurs to him that this could be bad - she could be using him, or trying to get at someone - but he really genuinely doesn't know what to do. And then her thighs tighten around his waist and he almost chokes at the rush of heat that swamps his bloodstream, hot liquid fire in his veins, and she's sucking on his neck and sliding her hands under his shirt and why exactly was this a bad idea again?

He grabs her wrist before she can get her hand on his belt (_shit_) and tries to breathe. She stops her assault on his neck, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a frustrated expression, like_ why did you make me stop?_ and for a second he really desperately wants to let her keep going.

His voice comes out rough. "What is this?"

"What do you mean?" She moves to kiss him again but he holds her back, hand on her shoulder, fingers sweeping over the smooth silky bare skin.

"I - you - " he's not sure how to ask _is this real and do you really want to have sex with me?_ - "I mean. Not that I don't like the way you say hello."

Her lips curl up into a smile, playful, sexy. She runs her fingertips over his chest, her smile widening when he shudders. "You just seem like such a nice guy."

"Is that what you want?" If she wants a nice guy he'll be nice. He'll be nice all the way to the hotel room. He'll be nice up against the shower wall.

"You think you can give me what I want?"

"I'll make it perfect," he whispers, nipping lightly at her lips, tracing them with his tongue as she whimpers. "What's your fantasy?"

She grins. Bites her lip. "You really want to know?"

"Absolutely."

"What I really, _really_ want -" she grazes her teeth over his jaw and he shivers - "I want to find a big, strong man, and then I want to take him back to my place - " she sucks at his earlobe and he groans - "and then I want him to slip his hand..."

She whispers in his ear and oh fuck fuck _fuck_ his pants are getting tight and the way she's grinding her body on his should be _illegal_ but if she's half as clever with her tongue as she's telling him (_fuck_) he needs to get her out of here and into a bed _now_ because he's not sure exactly how he walked into this hot hot hot porno but he never ever wants it to end.

"You want to get out of here?" he whispers, dragging his fingers over the sensitive skin of her thigh. He's rewarded with a soft gasp, her eyes dark and rich and fixating on his mouth as her body cants into his. He tests his luck, sliding his hand over the soft, flush curve of her breast, and she lets out this unbearably sexy little noise, something low and desperate back in her throat, and she's rolling her hips into his while her hands fist in his shirt and if they don't leave right _now_ he's pretty sure they're going to get each other off right here.

"Go get a cab," she murmurs.

"What?" Seriously? Does she mean -

"_Go_." She presses a light, teasing kiss to his mouth, teeth tugging lightly at his bottom lip. "Let's get out of here."

She slides off his lap with way too much grinding to be accidental. "I need to get my coat," she whispers, brushing his hand with soft, soft fingers. "Go get a car. I'll be right there."

He all but stumbles, pausing at the front door to look back. She's watching him, her eyes bright, the darkly gorgeous smile so dazzling - he has no idea who she is, but she's just so -

Rick forces himself to turn, step out onto the sidewalk. The night is chilly; the air nips at his flushed skin. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. It may not be his best idea, but right now he's too far gone to tell her _no thanks_, _maybe we should just shake hands and walk away_.

The street isn't terribly busy; it takes him a while to find a cab, and he has to run up to the corner nearby before it stops. Oh, _finally_. Where is she?

He turns around - he hears footsteps, it must be her - but then all hell breaks loose. The street is lit up with flashing red and blue lights. Yelling. People in dark vests printed with _Vice_ and _NYPD_. They're running into the club, guns drawn.

The - the _cops?_

Is Scarlet getting _busted?_

He sucks in a long shaky breath. Because he just came within thirty seconds of probably getting arrested.

Oh, damn, she - he hopes she got out, especially since she -

- she got him out -

- his eyes narrow. She just _happened_ to get him out of Scarlet in the nick of time. Terribly convenient.

The cab driver yells, so after another moment of standing there watching like an idiot, Rick slides into the backseat, his eyes never leaving the flickering, frenzied scene. Guys walking out, hands cuffed. Wow. Damn. Narrow, narrow escape.

The cab slides down the street, and just as it's about to turn the corner and leave Scarlet out of sight, Rick glances back.

There she is.

Walking out of Scarlet, all long legs, tousled hair. Red lips. A _Vice_ vest over her little dress.

Holy _shit_.

He tries to tell the driver to stop but it's too late, she's vanished again. The street is littered with cops anyway; there's no way he's going to get to her here.

So he goes home instead. Writes for hours. Finally throws himself into bed. He dreams about the tall, slim, hauntingly gorgeous young cop, tangled in the sheets with him, all dark eyes and dark hair and tantalizing silky skin under his fingers. He wakes up sweaty and breathless.

* * *

He starts poring over every newspaper he can find for mentions of the police, Vice, or Scarlet. Or the most unbelievably gorgeous cop he's ever seen.

* * *

_Red Storm_ hits shelves that fall. Featuring a scene in a club called Red. Where a gorgeous, dark-haired young cop comes up to Storm. She drags him out of the club just seconds before a mafia boss can get them.

The dedication is the last thing he writes.

_Whoever you are,  
thank you._

_And if you ever want to pick up where we left off,  
just tell me where and when._


End file.
